


Float On

by a_taller_tale



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, RvB Reverse Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Grif said he was jealous of the way clouds float once, so he shouldn't be bitching about the lack of gravity.





	Float On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmujin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmujin/gifts).



> My Reverse Big Bang writing entry based on [Emmujin's](https://emmujin.tumblr.com/) wonderful [grimmons art](https://emmujin.tumblr.com/post/167847958122/happy-reverse-big-bang-i-drew-this). This was a really fun piece to work on.

“I miss retirement,” Grif said randomly. 

Simmons frowned in concentration, taking another hallway according to the map on his helmet screen, Grif following behind him. He kept his voice low. “Really? You miss retirement? You said we were all driving you crazy, and then when we left you got so sad that you made a bunch of volleyball replacements of us.” 

“I shouldn’t have told you that.” 

“You had to give me some kind of context when you said you kept ruining Church’s balls.” They were also really shitfaced that night, and Simmons had felt both confused and some other dark feeling he couldn’t name. Grif was always saying how Church was a jerk, he had no idea they ever— 

“Yeah…” Grif sighed. “But don’t _you_ miss retirement?” They both paused to duck into a corner and avoid some random people in lab coats marching down the hall talking about planning an office birthday party. 

“It was nice at first, but then it did get kind of boring,” Simmons admitted once the group had passed them. “And we _were_ regularly in a similar amount of mortal peril during retirement as we were in active duty with Sarge and Caboose that bored anyway.” 

“Okay, true. The robots vs. dinosaur war got a little hairy, but I’m not really a fan of _this_ kind of action either.” 

The remnants of Project Freelancer, and by extension Malcolm Hargrove’s Charon Industries projects, were still keeping them busy. Retirement hadn’t worked out with their imposters running around causing havoc, so they weren’t safe to try again, no matter how remote the moon, until everything had been taken care of. 

The latest mission had been complicated when half the team was captured _again_ by some sketch lab they had been investigating _again._ Sometimes it seemed as if their strange lives were just stuck in the same seasonal cycle over and over again. 

“You have to make a deal with me,” Grif continued. “After we rescue the guys we need another vacation, a real one, without Donut to set things on fire. I’m thinking the Vegas Quadrant.” 

“Deal, but you’re using your own credit cards.—Oh, this closet’s got what we need.” Simmons opened the door to reveal extra scrubs and lab coats folded neatly and ripe for the taking. There was even a lost and found box with various extra stuff to wear under the coat. 

If Simmons thought about it too hard it would gross him out since the clothes were probably dirty, and it reminded him of when the gym teacher made him go through the lost and found when he purposely “forgot” to bring gym clothes hoping it would excuse him from participating—that bit him in the ass—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Sarge needed them. 

Simmons grabbed a sweater and some slacks that looked long enough. There were nursing shoes of various sizes in the corner. 

It wasn’t until Grif closed himself in with Simmons and started stripping out of his armor that Simmons remembered a similar situation in a similar closet last year. Simmons coughed and moved on to the coats so Grif could take his pick of the lost and found, and starting looking through the sizes, grabbing one that would fit Grif and tossing it back in his direction, backing deeper into his own corner to change out of his armor. 

“Capers where we need a disguise. We really have been hanging out with Blue Team too long…” Grif grumbled, running his hand through his helmet hair and re-tying it back. “Donut and Lopez better show up soon. Donut will hate missing an opportunity to dress up.” 

“Well they—” Simmons interrupted himself when he saw what Grif had put on his feet. “Are you wearing socks under your sandals?” Grif smirked in a way that Simmons _knew_ meant he did it just to piss him off. “There are regular shoes right there!” 

“Do you have a problem, Simmons?” Grif asked pleasantly. He definitely did this on purpose. He knew this was one of Simmons’ pet peeves! 

“No. You know what? Live your life the way you want to. See if I care.” Simmons cared. He cared so much. And Grif knew it, that asshole. Grif grew up on the beach! Shouldn’t socks under his sandals be sacrilegious or something? 

In their new disguises, they made their way to the labs area. It was definitely the night shift, and they didn’t even run into too many people on the skeleton crew. Which was great since they hadn’t been spotted yet, but made it more likely that when they were spotted, they’d be recognized as not belonging. They needed to get this done as quickly as possible. 

Simmons was suddenly shoved forward into an empty room out of nowhere, and there was a large warm hand clapped over his mouth before he even had the chance to squawk at Grif. “Guards,” Grif whispered. “Guns.” 

Simmons nodded—then remembered himself and whacked Grif’s hand off his face. “Ow,” Grif grunted. 

Through the window in the door they looked out to see the two guards with their menacing looking rifles and white armor, like Storm troopers, or Wyoming, or The Meta. 

Man, bad guys were always wearing white armor these days. It was becoming its own cliché now. They needed new “good” and “bad” colors. But what would a good color be? …Forget Blue Team, Simmons was hanging out with Donut too much. 

Once the guards had passed, and Simmons’ heart had calmed down, he started searching the room. It was pretty empty. There were several empty tables, beakers, test tubes, and various scientific detritus littering them. An empty bookcase stood against one wall behind a desk. It didn’t look like this room was in use very regularly. 

“Dude, we’re never gonna find anything cool in here.” Grif said, wiping some dust off a table. “It’s all nerd stuff.” 

“Grif, do you even remember what we’re looking for?” Simmons asked testily. 

“More snacks?” Grif replied dryly, putting an Oreo in his mouth. 

“What the— Where did you even get those?” 

“Secret snack stash. There’s one in every room in every workplace that has ever existed in the universe.” Grif pointed to the drawer he’d just opened and there were a lot of snacks in there. But considering that it looked like no one used this room there was no telling how old this stuff was–Oh, were those Red Vines? He hadn’t had one of those in _years!_ —No, _focus Simmons._

“Ugh, whatever. Just help me look for a computer terminal. Or a tablet, or datapad, or _anything_ that connects to their network, so I can unlock the holding area and then we can get the hell out of here.” 

Grif sighed. “Man, if Sarge wasn’t in there with the Blues we could just go. Not do any of this dangerous shit. I’m sure they’d be fine. Caboose has stupid good luck. We don’t. You remember some of these guys have guns, right?” 

“You have a gun too,” Simmons pointed out. 

“Uhhhh...” Oh no. 

“What the hell, Grif? Did you leave your gun with your armor? Are you serious?” 

Grif at _least_ managed to look a little sheepish. “These pockets aren’t very deep.” 

Simmons looked down at his own coat, and admittedly where his pistol was bulging out from his pocket was both really obvious and ridiculous. He looked up to see Grif trying to store cookies for later. “But you have room for an entire box of Oreos.” 

“Priorities, Simmons.” 

“Ughh, whatever." Simmons continued looking, with some help from Grif, which was better than zero. 

Grif found an ancient looking laptop on a sliding tray under one of the lab tables. Simmons nodded grimly. It was shitty and old, but it could work. 

Simmons pulled it up in a corner out of view of the window and prayed it would turn on. This was actually an ideal place for them to hack into the system if the guards didn’t come in very often. It was slow to boot up, but when it did, he was able to bypass the password protections easily and get into the system. “Yes! Score.” 

Grif gave him a raised eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Good! Simmons was doing all the hard work here! He kept a look out at the door while Simmons went through the databases. Luckily they were clearly labeled. Environmental controls, locks, lights… “How long is this gonna take?” Grif asked, but Simmons could tell he was worried rather than impatient. 

“Just another minute! I’m working as fast as I can!” Simmons sniped. He should _know_ Simmons didn’t work well under pressure. 

“There’s another patrol coming this way,” Grif whispered. 

“I’ve almost got it,” Simmons said, his fingers flying against the keys. It reminded him of high school and college, his fingers flying across screens and keys like he was made to do it. As natural as breathing or swimming or hiding in the computer lab from bullies until 9 o' clock at night. 

There were red lights on each of the cell blocks and on the third try the lights on cell block C went from red to green. “Got it!” Simmons said triumphantly. They had been getting along so well lately, Sarge might actually give him a pat on the shoulder for this one. 

“I found them!” said a guard from the hall. 

Grif dropped the Oreos. “Oh fuck.” 

Simmons looked around for a weapon, but the room was pretty empty aside from some chemistry equipment, the laptop and Grif’s _fucking Oreos._

Bang, bang, _bang_ and the door flew open. Three guards came in, guns at the ready. _Oh god._

Simmons suddenly felt practically naked without his armor on. 

“Simmons,” Grif said nervously out of the side of his mouth, backing into the wall. 

“I know, hang on, I have an idea!” Simmons threw Grif his pistol. “Try to hold them off.” Simmons turned back to mess with the computer. He went back a few folders. There. Environmental controls. 

Score one for the nerds. Computer science _can_ save the day. Screw the jocks! 

The three guards marched in, armor gleaming menacingly. The first guard yelled, “Surrender and put your hands up!” 

Grif lifted his gun as guard number two fired his gun, aiming at Simmons, but between the shot and the impact the world tilted on its side and suddenly they weren’t on the ground any more. They were floating. Holy fuck. 

“ _This_ was your plan??” Grif asked in disbelief, feet above his head, arms pin wheeling as he tried to get right-side-up again. 

“It’s a good distraction!” Simmons cried defensively, trying to figure out how to steer himself. 

Grif managed to get upright just in time to miss being shot by the first guard. “Oh, holy shit.” 

Simmons remembered some of his training in anti-gravity before he was shuttled into the Freelancer Sim Trooper program and managed to awkwardly swim close enough to grab guy number three’s gun. He looked like he was the slowest one—there was one guy like that in every team—and Simmons was right. Simmons reared back and slammed the gun into the back of the guard’s head as hard as he could. With a pitiful whine, the guy slumped unconscious, but he didn’t really go “down” because they were all floating. Huh. That was less satisfying than it should have been. 

Grif fired his own gun and guard number two went down. Which left guard number one who was—Where was he? 

Simmons _actually_ saw stars, which he thought was more of a cartoon thing, when an impact hit the back of his own skull. Everything went dark before he even had the chance to cry out. 

* * *

“I’m jealous of clouds,” Grif said. His eyes were half lidded in relaxation, the irises glowing under the light of the sun. He looked like he belonged there. Like his natural form was to lay in the grass and the sun. 

That was a weird thought. Stop it, brain. 

“Clouds?” Simmons asked. “That’s random. What do you mean?” 

They were lying on their backs in the shade beside the ditch where the warthog was stuck. Normally, Simmons wouldn’t shirk his duties, but he was tired of being the only one pushing the Warthog while Grif tried and failed to get it started again. He knew better than to ask Grif to trade. If he tried, Grif would talk him into knots until Simmons was handing over his credit card information without realizing he’d been tricked. Sometimes, Simmons hated that guy. But he didn’t today. 

When Grif groaned, _“Break time, use it or lose it,”_ and flopped down in the grass, Simmons only sighed and paced for a minute before joining him. 

It was nice to take a break anyway—not that he’d tell Grif that and give him another excuse. But it seemed like ever since they’d gotten to know the Blues on a last name basis there _had_ been non-stop running around and having adventures. 

Grif had been so weird and tense lately too. This was a good break from the odd nervous energy he kept displaying around Simmons. 

Decision made, when Grif had tossed his helmet off, Simmons followed suit. 

“What’s that about clouds?” Simmons prompted him again when Grif didn’t answer right away. Sometimes, when Grif got in a “deep” mood he got pretty insecure about it. And yeah, any clumsy mistake or slip of the tongue was currency to tease each other later, but Grif should know by now that the philosophy stuff was cool with him. Simmons wonders why they’re here too—how they got here, what it all means—a lot these days. 

Instead of backing off of the subject like Simmons half expected him to, Grif looked at Simmons and smiled contentedly. Grif may have looked relaxed in the sun, but he looked a little flushed too. Right, the fan in his armor was broken. Which he only seemed to bring up when they were out on a mission. He never brought it up when they were just sitting at home watching TV and someone could actually _repair_ it. 

“Clouds don’t have to run around chasing Blues, or listen to Sarge or anything. They just float around.” Grif sounded so wistful and relaxed. Simmons was suddenly enormously grateful for this break in the shade. 

“Clouds also don’t get to gamble or eat or drink alcohol, and I know you love doing all those things,” he couldn’t help pointing out. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Guess I just want the power to float. Can you imagine taking a nap floating in the clouds? It looks so soft.” 

“Actually, it would be damp and cold. Haven’t you ever been in a plane in that area of the atmosphere?” 

“Have a little imagination, Simmons,” Grif scolded him, but he sounded fond around a yawn. “You don’t have to think about everything so realistically all the time. Think about those clouds having the consistency of cotton candy and the sun hitting you just right and you’re floating like you’re in an inner tube and just letting the air take you wherever it wants you to go. Like a current…” Grif trailed off, leaving Simmons with the uncomfortable impression that they had maybe possibly somehow accidentally just had an intimate moment. 

Simmons waited for him to continue, but when Simmons looked back at him, Grif’s eyes were shut and his breathing was already even, like his own story had lulled him off to sleep. 

They really should have tried to head back already, but Grif looked so peaceful, and it was the most comfortable they had been together in a while. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” Simmons said quietly, and totally didn’t watch his teammate sleep like a creep for two hours. 

* * *

“Simmons! _Simmons!_ ” 

Simmons felt a flash of annoyance. What the hell was _Grif_ doing waking him up? It took him so long to go to sleep. And his head hurt. Had they been drinking last night? 

“Simmons,” Grif said again insistently. “Wake the fuck up, there could be more guards coming. We gotta get out of here. How do we get down?” 

Simmons winced and opened his eyes into slits. 

They were floating. “Oh my god,” he wailed. “Is that _blood?”_

He’d seen a lot of blood in his career as a soldier, and bled a lot too, but it was indescribably creepy to see it floating in little driblets around them. 

“Yeah genius, its blood. You let some asshole hit you in the back of the head. I shot him back, but there could be more guys coming.” Simmons blinked and was able to take in more of the room. Grif was near the bookcase, trying to hold onto it and panting and flailing and looking a little panicked. The bodies of the three unconscious (dead?) guards that had attacked them were floating through the air. 

“How do we get down?” Simmons asked himself, the pain in his head was making everything foggy, and the vision in his cyborg eye was flipping like a TV with a bad signal. 

“I don’t know! You’re the computer guy.” 

“Right. The computer... If I can find the computer I can…” He tried to adjust his position and his stomach flipped worryingly too. He did _not_ want to throw up in front of Grif in anti-gravity. He had to find the computer. Did it float off? “I think I just remembered I’m afraid of heights.” 

“—You are not. I’m the one who’s scared of heights, and I’m fine.” The sheen to his skin said otherwise, but Simmons chose to believe he was telling the truth. When Grif was calm it was easier for Simmons to freak out. Wait, no, when Grif was freaking out, it was easier for Simmons to calm down. Whatever. 

“Come on,” Grif urged as if sensing his thoughts. “You can freak out later. Let’s get down and find everyone else now.” 

Simmons nodded, looking around for the laptop, which was floating below them, near a beaker of ominous purple glowing liquid that he wasn’t sure he had seen earlier. Better not touch that. This lab dealt with some really sketchy stuff. 

Simmons attempted to steer himself downward to reach it, but only ended up doing a 360 in the air and knocking himself into one of the bodies. “Shit!” 

“Hey, calm down, dude." Simmons bit back a retort at Grif's gentler tone. "Everything’s okay. You took a big hit there, huh? If I get you to the computer, will you still be able to undo what you did? I promise once we get out of here we can get your head checked out, okay?” He was babbling at the end there. The injury to his head must look pretty nasty for Grif to sound that nice. 

Simmons realized he was shaking a little and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself as Grif swam towards him, knocking some objects out of the way, and using one of the unfortunate guards as a springboard until he reached Simmons. 

As soon as he was within reach, Simmons grabbed at his hand tightly. The warmth of Grif’s hand, even just on his prosthetic hand, calmed him down immediately. His head was still buzzing, but Grif was right here with him and they were floating just like Grif wanted. 

Grif’s face was flushed like it had been that day too, which was odd because it wasn’t really hot, and they were indoors so they weren’t in the sun, and Grif’s armor cooling system didn’t matter because they weren’t in armor. 

“I got you,” Grif said, and Simmons felt like he was floating. –Oh, well they _were_ floating. Simmons looked back down at Grif’s hand like he just realized he was holding it. “If I have a counterweight it’ll be easier for me to navigate,” Simmons murmured dazedly. 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Grif said, and he squeezed his hand back. “That makes complete and total sense.” 

“Yeah, so we’ll get to the laptop and then—” 

The Oreos floated by along with the box in the opposite direction of the laptop. “My Oreos! They didn’t get destroyed!” Grif said. 

“Grif, if you pull me towards the Oreos, and more guards come in and we die, I’m going to kill you,” Simmons said with a sobriety and certainty he totally felt. 

_“Fine.”_

They side eyed the unconscious—or dead, or just napping—guards as they awkwardly flailed, attempting to figure out how to get closer to the laptop. The first time Simmons got his hands on it, he accidentally batted it in Grif’s direction. Grif had to bat it back to him, and Simmons finally let his hand go so he had two to work with. He missed the warmth already. 

“Do your magic, dude,” Grif said. “Just try to give me a countdown before we crash into the floor. A ‘prepare for impact’ works.” 

“Mmm…” Simmons managed to get back onto the environmental control screen without too much trouble, though his head was feeling glitchy too now. Like his attention kept flipping channels. This is the code for—Grif’s hands—press Esc add three backslashes—it would be so nice to nap right here like clouds. Under the sun. Cotton candy. Grif’s eyes warm and glowing. 

Simmons didn’t remember finishing, but gravity came back to them slowly. Simmons floated down, closing his eyes and clutching the laptop like the favored teddy bear his dad threw away when he was six. Instead of the rough landing he was bracing himself for, he landed on something soft and warm. Grif was below him. Simmons definitely forgot to tell him to brace for impact. 

“Hey, uh… you’re a little close there,” Grif said. 

Simmons blinked his eyes open, looking straight into Grif’s deep brown eyes. They weren’t glowing because there wasn’t any sunlight there. But they were still pretty. And he was still so dizzy. He was draped over Grif and there were no hard edges like there would be with their armor on. “Oh good, it worked.” He dropped the laptop and dropped his head into Grif’s soft chest. 

"Hey, you always tell me I can't nap on missions." Grif tapped him on the shoulder until Simmons lifted his head again. Grif looked distinctly redder in the face. Grif could say all that sarcastic stuff all he wanted but his face showed… something else Simmons couldn’t really interpret it, but he looked… Good. 

Their faces were closer. Grif’s eyes were wide, but dilated. Probably from all the adrenaline. Yeah… 

Grif’s heart—Simmons’ old heart—raced under him, even though time felt like it had slowed down. Gravity really messed with you. Space was like that. 

Simmons’ eyes closed again. They were sharing breath. He still felt like he was floating, orbiting Grif, and being pulled closer and closer by some force. Grif inhaled sharply, and Simmons realized their lips were just about to brush, and that was like floating too. 

“Guys, there you are!” The door slammed open and Simmons groggily pulled away. 

Donut was standing in the doorway. Of course it was Donut. Perfect timing, as always. Thanks a lot, Donut. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

“Yeah, the getaway ship's been revved up to go for ages! Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” And Tucker. Of course. 

“[It looks like we interrupted something],” Lopez said in Spanish. “[They were about to make out. Finally. After years of sexual tension. Maybe we should just leave them here.]” 

Simmons was distracted from watching Lopez speak Spanish at them even though literally none of them could understand it, to wonder why Grif was suddenly coughing and scrambling to get up. “We definitely weren’t doing that!” 

“What?” Simmons asked. Was he… responding to Lopez? 

“What? Nothing!” Grif said. “I don’t know any Spanish, stop accusing me!” 

Simmons got up unsteadily. “Okay, whatever, jeez.” Grif wordlessly helped support him as they made their way back to the ship. 

Sarge harrumphed and examined him and made the flipping in his eye and his head stop. There were a few stitches and some pain medication too. 

Grif made a couple of half-hearted attempts to extricate himself from Simmons once they got to the ship, but oddly enough, most of their friends were leaving Grif and Simmons alone. Grif was so much more secure when they were left alone that he relaxed a little bit, and didn’t make too much of a fuss about Simmons leaning on him and dozing. 

Simmons still felt like he was floating. A glow from the sun in his cheeks. Or maybe it was just the blow to the back of the head. 


End file.
